They say chance favors the prepared. So when it comes to third world travel, arrive early at the airport. After much experience with Air Malawi, I don’t take anything for granted. Ethiopian Air seems to be more dependable. Even so, I have a 3 pm flight…and I’m at the airport at 9 am. I can check in at 12:30. 3 more hours to wait.

The ‘terminal’ is under construction, so the passenger lounge is out of service. Never fear, said the lady behind the counter. I’ll hold your bag. Go outside and to the right.

Sure enough…outside and to the right I find a large tent. And inside I find all the contents of the old lounge. Tables with table cloths and cloth napkins. High top tables. A bar. Very inviting.

I order a Coke…which tastes so much better than Coke in America. And I settle in. 30 hours from now, God willing, I’ll be home.

I’ll miss this place, it’s peace and simplicity. But I have come to understand: one of the reasons I was born an American was to find ways to channel some of America’s resources here, to one of the 10 poorest countries in the world.

Works for me.

So…this is it…my last day here. Tomorrow I begin the journey home. 22 hrs flight time with a stopover in Rome.

This morning as I’ve waited for Grey, I’ve knocked around town, had my shoes shined (turns out the shoe shine man was a follower of Jesus too. He was quoting scripture to me), checked prices on bicycles, ground maize, and corrugated roofing and finally settled into an Ethiopian restaurant for a pot of spiced coffee.

The owner, Mr. Abibi, is a Christian with strong views regarding the moral decline of America and how we’re exporting this decline to other countries. Our conversation was warm, enlightening, and challenging.

On my way out of the shop I met Tobias, from Germany. Fortunately his English was far better than my German. He was in search of the perfect omelette. I told him good luck!He’s here for the Blantyre Arts Festival, his first visit to Africa. We’ll share a flight out tomorrow.

No place is ever as idyllic as it seems (learned that the hard way in Kenya) but there is a peace here. These people are trying hard to get into the 21st century.

And mostly, they’re just trying to survive. Most of the city inhabitants are just a few short years from their life in a very primitive village, learning new skills and seeking an easier life than the one they were born to.

Grace Community Church Malawi is largely focused on the orphans here in the poorest sections of Blantyre, and churches in remote villages which serve the poorest of the poor.

It’s messy and confusing and they don’t always get it right. Add to that the cultural differences and it makes this partnership challenging. Accountability (as Mr. Abibi reminded me) is key. We must be careful to ask the hard questions and maintain trust.

There are closer places to do ministry, but none more rewarding. The value they place on owning their own Bible is uncommon in America. The graciousness with which they receive the azungu warms the soul.

In the village there is an innocence. I was told in one of the villages that they knew the white man can’t lie. Imagine their surprise when told them “Oh yes we can, but as followers of Jesus we seek to follow the truth!”

I marvel at how this whole journey began. I have no idea what’s next or if the church in America will seek to reengage. I only know that some how, some way, I’ve become attached to these people, this country. Amazing.

100 kilometers of good road followed by 11 kilometers of very bad road and you’re in Magaleta, northwest of Blantyre.

The church there is led by a gentle, serious man named Pastor Frederick. His easy smile and age belie the tremendous struggle which defines everyday life in this region. I met him a few years ago before he walked with a cane.

He asked to speak to me. So, surrounded by the leaders of the village we talked.

He said, “You’ve been silent for three years. Where have you been? We need your help. We need bibles, we need training. We need bicycles to reach far from here.”

“Three years ago you gave us certificates as pastors of Grace Community Church. We still have them. We still need your help”.

I looked into his eyes and sensed the urgency of his words. I was immediately very sad. I apologized for taking so long to return.

I have a soft spot, a call, to encourage indigenous leaders. They shepherd their flocks with little education and no support. It’s a pure call from God. I’d let Pastor Frederick down.

We’d brought bibles, hymnals, and the Disciples Making Disciples books in two languages. All were quickly assigned to the leaders. The village chief got the first bible. The way he held it said it was a precious gift.

Nobody knows these people exist. It’s easy as Americans to become so self-consumed. But when I met someone like Pastor Frederick, I’ll do anything I can to partner with him to build the Kingdom of God is this little corner of Africa.

Matthew 25:45 NIV
[45] “He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

It’s sunny and warm already. The city is bustling with normal back to work activity. A breakfast of one chicken wing, two gizzards, coffee, and potatoes. Breakfast of champions!

Yesterday was interesting. After church we went to Grey’s house…a first…in four visits here, this was the first time.

His home is comfortable, several kilometers outside of the city in what we’d call a subdivision. The streets are unpaved, but passable.

We ate together. I couldn’t help but be concerned about the freshness of the meat, having gotten food poisoning from bad liver in Kenya years ago. Then I noticed the chicken on the floor in the car…very much alive!

Our conversation stretched from the afternoon, over dinner and into the evening.

We spoke of why they saw a need to minister to the outlying villages: because no one else was going and these villagers needed to hear of Jesus.

We talked about Grace Center and how it might grow beyond it’s definite limits in Delandi.

They said they dreamed of the day when they’d buy MY ticket to come visit.

I keep asking why am I here. I think it’s simply to help one part of the church grow here in this largely forgotten country. And to serve the least of these in the villages.

We’re off to Magaleta, Grey’s home village. What will today hold? We’ll see.

I was making my evening run to the ATM when I was approached by a little guy no more than 8 or 9 yrs old. In his hands were bunches of bananas. They looked like they just came off a tree in his yard. Trust me they were not Chicita brand!

I wasn’t interested, but clearly he was there to earn some money. I reached in my pocket, pulled out a few kwachas and told him, “no thanks, but here’s something for you anyway.”

Again this evening, as I left the ATM, there he was. I know he’s been trained to watch the ATM’s near the hotels. And I wonder just how late he’s there.

This time I just said “hey banana man, muli bwanji! I don’t need any bananas, but here ya go!” This time I tried to be more generous.

This is not about my gifts to him. It’s about the fact that I so long for a world where 8 year olds don’t have to be out after dark selling bananas. I pray for his safety as he does what he has to do to survive.